Steel and Snitches
by Lucillia
Summary: Faced with a choice between employing Umbridge and employing a man who technically didn't even apply for the position and wasn't even a wizard in the first place, Dumbledore chooses the option of Not Umbridge. During his Fifth year, Harry is confronted with a Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor who doesn't want to hurt or kill him, but might anyways when he destroys the school.
1. The Decision

Dumbledore looked down at the application with the signature which had obviously been cut off of something else and glued on.

He had a decision to make. Hire a completely unqualified candidate who didn't actually apply, or have the Ministry send someone over to take the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. Considering that rumor had it that it was going to be Umbridge rather than someone who might actually know what they were doing, he was carefully considering his options. Either way, it wasn't like he was going to get lucky three years in a row. Having a professor as qualified as Remus Lupin was phenomenally lucky considering that the quality of the professors who'd applied after rumors of the curse had gotten out had gone down to an abysmal level at which hiring Lockheart in order to expose him as an impostor was actually a step up as far as quality was concerned. Having Remus be succeeded by someone who was exceedingly qualified whom he'd never actually had to pay because an exceedingly qualified impostor who had tapped him for information did all the work went so far beyond luck as to almost be ascribed to divine intervention. Based on probability as well as studies done on Luck following the invention of the Felix Felicis Potion, there was no way he'd be as lucky as he'd previously been.

Things would be shitty with an unqualified candidate in the position, but not as shitty as having Umbridge would be though...

He looked down at the application again, torn between what was Right, and what was Easy and finding himself ready to take the Easy path in this instance. It wasn't like it was the first time that someone had attempted to assassinate an enemy by applying them for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post. Poor Professor Fullerton who'd been so happy to get a job, any job, and said yes he would take the post when he'd contacted him about the application, had turned inside out and exploded if he recalled correctly. Or was that Professor Mitchell?

The thing was, the last time someone had pulled that whole sending in an application for someone else in hopes of getting them killed trick, they'd done a much better job at forging things and had made it all look completely legal and aboveboard which had given him plausible deniability should there have been an investigation. This fellow didn't even look like they were trying...

It would be well within his rights to hire the man for the post though, since there was a job application with his signature on it. And, as little Harry's entrance in the Tri-Wizard Tournament had spectacularly proven, you don't actually have to sign something for it to be legally binding. You just have to be careless about where you leave your signature lying about. Almost as bad as leaving hair, blood, and nail clippings where someone could get at them that was.

On the one hand however, this guy wasn't even a Wizard and the person who had applied him for the post was a rank amateur who could get them both arrested if he tapped the small print at the bottom of the page and turned the job application into an employment contract without the prospective employee's actual consent. On the other hand, Umbridge...

Sighing, Dumbledore pulled his wand out and made the glued on signature look less like a Xerox copy, seamlessly blended it into the paper and tapped the bit of scrollwork at the bottom of the page that contained all of the fine print before summoning his Potions Master whom he kept around for some of the messier jobs he couldn't ask Hagrid to get involved in. A few minutes later, the man was standing in his office.

"Severus, can you please do me a favor and fetch your new colleague..." he paused and looked down at the paper. "One Eric Lensherr."

Snape's face turned to a moue of distaste at the menial task he'd been given. The Potions Master's disappointment that his annual suicide attempt via Defense Against the Dark Arts Professorship had once again been thwarted which lay underneath his disgust over being used as a gofer was almost palpable. Dumbledore didn't care about the disappointment though. As far as he was concerned, Snape could suffer through being forced to live with what he had done for at least two more years. Three if Harry failed to pull another miracle out of his arse like he had done during the last four years instead of dying as he should've by all rights done in such situations, and the war went into overtime.

If he didn't know any better, he'd swear that Lily had discovered a permanent form of Liquid Luck. How else would you explain Harry making friends who were ridiculously overspecialized in the areas needed to get past the traps that protected the Philospher's Stone, traps that would stymie most adults who wouldn't know how to recognize a Devil's Snare if it jumped up and strangled them, most adults who couldn't play chess to save their lives much less defeat a chess champion like McGonagall? How else would you explain that kid managing to not be killed by the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets long enough for Fawkes to get to him when most people would've been killed within the first five seconds? And the list just went on and on...

Pulling himself out of his musings on Harry before he ended up getting a headache, he looked back down at the application that was now an iron-clad employment contract that this Lensherr couldn't escape from until the end of the coming academic year so he wouldn't have to watch Snape throw another temper tantrum in front of him as the man looked to be building up steam for an epic one. It was as he was using the application for a distraction that he spotted something he'd overlooked. The (possible) teenager who'd sent in the application had left a rather helpful helpful note in the margins.

"Oh, and Severus," he called out as the man turned to leave rather than rant and rave over the latest "injustice" for an hour straight as he'd half expected him to do. "Be sure to not have any metal on you when you retrieve our new Professor."

 **Edited 12-20-16**


	2. Welcome to Your First Day

Magneto blinked at his unfamiliar surroundings as he awoke, almost too tired or possibly too drugged to do anything else at the moment. The pillow his head rested on was so comfortable that he almost fell back asleep despite the fact that he'd woken up to stone walls he'd never seen before. He remembered going to one of the Mutant bars he'd known would be safe from even Charles' proselytizing via his students much less Anti-mutant mobs who would be looking to assassinate him. He remembered drinking a toast to something or other to do with the Mutant cause from a bottle that hadn't appeared to have been tampered with prior to his having opened it. Everything after that was completely blank.

Great.

He'd been Roofied.

Again.

He'd thought he'd gotten better at avoiding the sort of crazy that absolutely refused to take "Nein." for an answer, even after he repeated it in at least twenty languages. Nein, No, Nyet, Non, iie...Apparently, that wasn't the case seeing as he was here. Wherever here was.

"Ah, you're awake I see." said a nearby voice that reminded him entirely too much of Shaw, complete with the poisoned undertones that lurked beneath the amused friendliness that hadn't wavered in Shaw's voice even as the man was murdering his mother.

A male voice.

Well, wasn't this just _perfect_?

So, what was it going to be today? Experimentation? Declarations of vengeance against him for his (numerous) crimes? Or worse, a fanboy?

"We have a busy day ahead of us."said the voice that was once again giving him Shaw flashbacks, despite the fact that it was speaking in English rather than the German Shaw had used while experimenting on him. "We've got lessons to plan, and you're already ten minutes late to the staff meeting."

WHAT THE...?!

"Staff meeting?" Magneto found himself repeating somewhat stupidly as that had not been anywhere near the top ten-thousand in the list of things he'd been expecting to hear, and his head hadn't completely cleared of whatever the hell he'd been dosed with this time.

"Is this not your signature on this employment contract?" the owner of the voice who'd turned out to be a kindly-looking grandfatherly fellow who gave off Shaw vibes asked as he brandished a document in front of his face. A document that had the fancy signature he used when he sent letters, ultimatums, and press releases to the papers.

"That's my signature, but..." he started, wondering how the hell that particular signature had ended up on a contract. The utter absurdity of the situation was making him feel stupid, as he found himself floundering with nothing to get solid footing on so he could deal with this mess in the manner it deserved.

"Then I must inform you that your term of employment is for a minimum of one academic year or your death, whichever comes first. It's all in the fine print." the old man who reminded him more and more of Shaw with each passing second said as he handed the now upright and regretting it Magneto the contract to examine.

If Magneto's mind had been on a three second delay with a profanity filter, all anyone listening in would've heard as Magneto looked at the document he'd never signed or agreed to would've been a high pitched EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEE EEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEE EEEEEE EEEEEE EEEEEEE EEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.

Seeing as Magneto's admittedly vast, but exceedingly impulsive, mind wasn't on a three second delay, any random passing telepath would've gotten quite the lesson in the wonderful world of profanities and expletives. Considering the fact that Magneto had more than a passing familiarity with at least thirty languages, it was quite a vast world at that. However, none of this showed on Magneto's face which was taking on the sort of deadly calm that even Charles Xavier knew to wheel his ass the hell away from as the man began to process the fact that he'd been Shanghaied by a school.

The old man, who would be suffering Shaw's fate if Magneto had anything to say about it, must've sensed at least some of the danger he was in however, as the next words out of his mouth were "If you kill me, you become the new Headmaster, and that position comes with a minimum term of service of ten years or until your death. Whichever comes first. Eleven Headmasters ended up getting their jobs that way, much to their shock and dismay. Seeing as I've written that I would like to be succeeded the old way into my will, it's all legal and squared away with the Ministry. As per my wishes, they won't be so merciful as to charge my killer with my murder unless they feel that my successor would be an extreme danger to the school."

Well, there went that easy escape route...


	3. Delayed Meetings

The Headmaster and the new Defense against the Dark Arts professor ended up being nearly a half-hour late to the staff meeting, because it had taken Magneto - who was beginning to have Dark Suspicions as to how his signature had ended up on an obviously magical employment contract, Dark Suspicions that involved a certain prank-loving blue teleporter who'd been raised by a German witch - several minutes to get up and on his feet. It had then taken the pair several more minutes to travel from what was obviously the school's infirmary to the teachers' breakroom/meeting hall, as Dumbledore, who was leading the way, was walking rather slowly. On the way to the breakroom, Magneto had floated along behind the Hedmeaster taking inventory of the loose metal lying around the castle, and cursing ancient building practices that ruled out the solution of simply ripping apart the building's support structure and flying away from the ruins that he would've been able to utilize had the school been built during the 20th century, or possibly even as early as the latter half of the 19th.

The only reason he hadn't flown off already, contract or no contract, was because he'd grown up with enough stories about magic and what it could do to be wary. Most of the handful of wizards he'd encountered over the course of his travels were complete idiots who'd lucked out due to the fact that a distant ancestor of theirs had figured out a way to multiply their meagre powers, but the few competent ones he'd run into had scared the hell out of him. Kurt Wagner's foster mother, whom he'd had the misfortune of meeting once, being a case in point. Until he found out which side of the line Mr. "Flamboyantly dressed and brings up more and more Shaw flashbacks with each passing second" fell on, he would watch, plan his escape/destruction of the school belonging to the bastards who thought they could force him into a job he didn't want, and wait. It wouldn't be the first time he delayed getting his revenge.

Part of what made this situation so irksome was that he didn't want to hold a teaching position. If he'd wanted to be a teacher, he would've been working at Charles' school already. Despite the fact that they both knew he'd just fuck up any students that he became responsible for, Charles had made it clear to him on more than one occasion that there was a teaching position open and waiting for him, and that he could have it the instant he quit his "terrorist" activities.

When Magneto and the man that Magneto was starting to mentally label "Shaw lite" finally reached the staff meeting that had impatiently awaited their arrival, Magneto found himself being glared at by a familiar looking man in black, a stern looking woman, a woman whose hands and clothes were covered in dirt, and various others.

"Now that our new Professor has joined us, the meeting can begin." the Headmaster said, making it sound as if Magneto had deliberately delayed a meeting he'd never signed up to attend in the first place.

"Hem, hem." said a voice, interrupting the proceedings before they could begin.

The voice turned out to belong to a woman who was dressed all in pink who he was willing to swear under oath was Toad's long-lost sister. Seated next to the woman was a man who was holding a lime green bowler and shooting nervous glances at the stern looking woman who had been glaring at Magneto earlier and was now glaring at the female Toad and her companion.

"Yes Dolores?" the Headmaster asked, looking like he was about as happy as the others were at the interruption to their already long delayed meeting, and doing just a little bit less than his utmost to hide it.

"We've heard that you hired an applicant without allowing us to review his qualifications or test his fitness for the position." the female Toad said before the man with the green bowler hat who'd opened his mouth to say something could even speak.

"I'm sure that Herr Lensherr's 27 confirmed Death Eater kills during his work as a freelancer during the last war should be confirmation enough of his qualifications." Shaw Lite, aka Headmaster Dumbledore said.

Magneto frowned, as he didn't recall having met 27 wizards, much less having killed that many over his entire career as a Freedom fighter/Mutant terrorist.

"I killed 27 Death Eaters?" he said wondering if he should've sounded so surprised in front of these strangers.

"You probably didn't notice, since you were preoccupied at the time. But, you killed a party of fifteen of them in one go when you dropped some sporting equipment on the group while they were trying to break through the wards surrounding the rather quaintly named home of the leader of the American Muggles as part of an assassination attempt." Shaw lite aka Dumbledore said, sounding somewhat amused. "The loss of life was admittedly regrettable, but..."

"He killed fifteen Death Eaters with sporting equipment?!" the man with the lime green bowler exclaimed before eyeing Magneto nervously.

"Are you sure you want such a dangerous individual around impressionable children?" the female Toad asked in a faux "Think of the children!" tone.

"I trust that you remember that Mr. Fogherty was even more dangerous during the Grindelwald war, and he ended up being one of the school's most beloved Defense Against the Dark Arts professors before he gave his life saving a classroom of Potions students during Slughorn's final year at this august institution." Dumbledore replied.

The man with the lime green bowler hat seemed to rather unwillingly concede this point.

"Well, can he at least show us his lesson plans? Last year's lessons were entirely unacceptable for a school full of children who should never have been subjected to, much less forced to witness any of the Unforgivable curses." the female Toad simpered, shooting Dumbledore a look that was as venomous as Toad's spit could be.

"I'm afraid I haven't made any yet." Magneto said in his dealing with idiots he couldn't kill just yet voice."I wasn't informed that I had been hired until just this morning, and I had thought my hiring exceedingly unlikely until I was informed of it.

"Haven't made any..." the female Toad said, pretending to be shocked and dismayed.

"Which means that he will be open to any input you may have." the school's Headmaster replied smoothly in a voice that made Magneto wonder why the hell the man hadn't become a politician.

"He is?" the Minister asked suspiciously.

"But of course." Magneto replied. "I could always use _expert_ opinion. I don't think this meeting would be the time and the place for it however, seeing as the school's other staff have been waiting for a good half hour for the start to their meeting, which I seem to have unfortunately delayed."

The man with the lime green bowler seemed slightly embarrassed at this, but the female Toad looked like she couldn't care less and that the teachers could wait until hell froze over until they got their meeting as far as she was concerned.

"Yes, perhaps we should adjourn until a later time. I do have business I need to tend to myself after all." the man with the lime green bowler said before popping his hat on his head and making to leave.

"I look forward to it." Magneto said, feeling the opposite.

With that, the man with the lime green bowler and the woman departed. The room that had been forced to sit through that little power play between the Headmaster and the pair took on a relieved air, and the school's other faculty began to relax. Several murmurs along the lines of "I thought the meeting would never start." and "I thought they'd never leave." made their way around the room as the mood began to lighten a bit.

"So," a small man who looked like he'd been born with one of the less fortunate mutations said, looking at Magneto with some interest. "What sort of sporting equipment did you use to kill fifteen Death Eaters in one go?"

The rest of the room suddenly looked very interested in the conversation.

"If your Headmaster is referring to the incident I think he was referring to," Magneto replied. "It was a baseball stadium."

At this, the dark-haired, black-eyed man in black reached into his pocket, pulled out a vial, unstoppered it, moved it towards the mug of tea he was holding in his other hand, thought better of his decision, brought the vial to his lips, and knocked its contents back, drinking them straight.


	4. Meeting Professor Lensherr

"Hey, Hermione," Harry said, nudging his best female friend who was reading as they waited for the sorting to start.

"What?" Hermione snapped, irritated by the interruption.

"Does that guy look familiar to you?" Harry asked, pointing to the new face seated among the faculty. "I could swear I've seen him somewhere before..."

"No!" Hermione exclaimed in a shocked whisper. "Dumbledore wouldn't! He couldn't!"

"Couldn't what?" Ron asked, wondering what the fuss was about and why all of the muggleborns and most of the half-bloods were suddenly having hushed conversations like Harry and Hermione were.

"Dumbledore couldn't have been so utterly...utterly stupid as to hire Magneto!" Hermione explained, causing Dean Thomas to go pale enough to almost be mistaken for white as he realized that the "Magneto lookalike" whose resemblance he was commenting on to Seamus could very well be the real thing. As far as most people who weren't Dumbledore's nutty followers were concerned, Dumbledore was batshit insane enough to pull a stunt like hiring the man who was the most wanted person on the planet to teach students. Considering the previous year and the year before, no offense to Lupin who was a good teacher in spite of that whole Werewolf thing, hiring Magneto would've been par for the course.

"Dumbledore's really topped himself this time." one of the older students at the end of the table said in the sort of awed shock one would reserve for a train wreck as his muggleborn friend finished explaining exactly who the new addition to the Staff Table was.

* * *

"We're going to have to watch our backs with this one," Draco said in a voice that wasn't meant to carry beyond the Slytherin table where he now ruled the roost since the lot who'd previously ruled it had finally graduated. "My father told me that the Minister told him that our new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor killed fifteen Deatheaters with a piece of sporting equipment back in 1973."

There was a slight snerk sound from one of the younger halfbloods who clung to the edges of his social group hoping that association with him would cause others to overlook his lack of blood purity.

"Something funny Amistad?" he asked, glaring at the fourth-year in order to express his displeasure at having his moment interrupted by the likes of him.

"Nothing, nothing at all...sir." Amistad said a little too obsequiously, leaning away from him.

"Good." he said. He could always deal with Amistad later when there were no teachers watching.

Before he could get back to cementing his reputation as a leader who cared for the safety of those in his circle, he heard a mutter of "Sporting equipment" and a snerk from Amistad. It would seem that the boy would need a lesson on respecting those who had given their lives for the Dark Lord's noble cause...

As he turned to speak with his closest circle, a halfblood who sometimes associated with Amistad but didn't associate with him and his asked Amistad what was so funny. "Baseball stadium" was clearly some sort of muggle code, because the other halfblood had also started shaking in silent laughter. When a halfblood who really didn't belong in their house but had been sorted here anyway asked the second halfblood what was so funny, the halfblood whispered something in her ear in which the words "Baseball stadium" were present. This girl too had started laughing, and not nearly as quietly as Amistad or the other half-blood.

"Killed them with a baseball stadium!" the girl exclaimed between her peals of laughter.

Strangely, rather than sharing in on the joke that only someone who'd lived with muggles could understand, the other muggleborns and halfbloods in the school seemed utterly horrified. Several nervous glances were shot towards the head table where the new Defense Professor was sitting, being very obvious about pretending to have not heard the girl's laughter.

Rather than giving the girl a warning that would silence her laughter, Professor Snape was sitting in his seat chugging down something that, based on its color, was either a heavy-duty Calming Draught or industrial strength floor cleaner. Based on his expression, it was very possible that the good professor didn't care which it was at the moment.

* * *

Severus Snape sat in his happy yellow cloud of calmness. He knew there was something he should be worrying about right now. Something to do with impending doom. Impending doom that was going to be taking it personal with him if it ever found out he'd been the one to kidnap it and bring it here. Impending doom that didn't matter. He was calm, and if he died...Oh well, it didn't matter.

Looking around the room so he wouldn't be focused on the Impending Doom that was sitting nearby, he found himself looking at something at the Gryffindor table that usually sent his blood-pressure skyrocketing into the stratosphere and hatred churning and roiling in his gut. Right now, all he could feel about that something was a vague sense of "Fuck it, it doesn't matter", and continuing to look at the normally annoying something or other at the Gryffindor table set the Calming Draught in his blood to singing, making him feel better and better. Something that made him feel that good couldn't possibly be an enemy.

"Hi Harry!" he said, waving at his friend, before laughing at the utterly horrified look he got from his friend in return.

It was at that moment that the school's newest students started shuffling in. He vaguely remembered this being the start of a very tedious process, and he could feel his happy yellow cloud beginning to dissipate around the edges. Maybe there was something else he had on him that might make the time pass more quickly and not kill his happy cloud?

Rifling through his pockets, his hand touched a small phial and his mind sent up a warning. Something to do with hallucinogenic side-effects when this potion was mixed with the Calming Draught he had taken.

 _Well, fuck it._ he thought as he knocked back the contents of the little phial.

 _There are two great things about being a Potions Professor_ he thought as he watched the walls turn sparkly rainbow colors and start to melt. _One, I can brew some quality shit, and Two, I can do it all on the school's dime._

* * *

"Merlin!" Ernie MacMillian exclaimed. "Is it me, or is Professor Snape stoned out of his gourd?"

"I'd have to be stoned out of my gourd too in order to sit next to the likes of HIM!" Justin Finch-Fletchley replied, pointing at the new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor who was seated a seat away from Professor Snape, realizing who he was pointing at, swallowing, quickly lowering his finger, and sitting on his hands.


End file.
